


Wavering on the Precipice

by Welfycat



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Community: angst_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welfycat/pseuds/Welfycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As time passes Hotch finds himself closer to the dark than he had expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wavering on the Precipice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Execution  
> Content Notes: Murder, memory of canon character death.  
> Author Notes: References and spoilers for the Foyet plot line, including through episode 100.

Hotch entered the front door of his apartment, his keys held loose in one hand and the handle of his bag in the other. He took a few steps inside, letting the weight of the door pull it closed behind him. He swung the latch shut, turned the deadbolt, and locked the handle more out of habit than actual desire to keep his apartment safe. Locks were deterrents, nothing more. Any room, any building, any place, especially the places that should be safe and private, could be violated. The locks and alarms that most people relied on to protect themselves and their families were useless against someone who was determined. There were no true protections in the world; Hotch had learned that lesson the hard way, though maybe it was the only way that lesson could be learned.

The lights were still off in the front room, the darkness surrounding him entirely. He didn't mind, he wasn't afraid of what waited in the dark. He looked into the darkness everyday, and though this wasn't the first time he'd found it looking back he was starting to wonder if it would be the last. He placed his bag and keys on the counter that separated the front room from the kitchen, still operating on autopilot.

When he'd killed Foyet there hadn't been any hesitation. There hadn't been any other thought in his mind other than protecting his family, tainted with revenge for what the man - the monster - had cost him. The team had come and Foyet was already dead. And Haley. Haley was already dead. Hotch may have been the master of his own mind, his ability to compartmentalize for his own sanity unrivaled, but Foyet had started the domino chain and Hotch hadn't even realized it until tonight.

Hotch's hand fell to the holster at his side, his fingers resting against the surface of the Glock. He'd fired his weapon many times over the course of his job, always to protect innocent people and to protect his team, and occasionally to protect himself. He'd killed more people than he wanted to think about and he generally didn't let himself think about it. He did what was necessary to stop more people from being hurt. Hotch had told that to many agents over the passing of the years, offering reassurance after difficult cases when taking the unsub into custody hadn't been an option.

When he thought of Foyet, his hand clenching briefly around the handle of the Glock, he had a flash of doubt as to why they bothered to bring anyone in. By the time the BAU was called in there was typically enough evidence that escaping through the court system was rarely an option, but the ability of the criminal justice system to keep the unsubs contained had been called into question more than once. Reid would undoubtably offer some statistic about the amount of prison escapes and note that it was relatively rare for fugitives to evade capture for more than a handful of hours when an successful escape was achieved. Hotch didn't care about statistics. Once had been enough.

Hotch forced himself to let go of his gun and after a moment he removed the holster and placed it and the Glock on the counter before bending to remove his ankle holster as well. Both of the weapons would go in the gun safe before he went to sleep but for the moment he left them on the counter. He had killed a man - a monster - with one of those weapons, only a few hours ago. Killed wasn't exactly the right word, killed was an emotionally detached word for all the meaning it entailed; anyone could kill someone and it didn't have to mean very much. Execute was a much more precise and meaningful term for what he'd done.

When he'd encountered the unsub, Hotch had been alone. The rest of the team was minutes from his location because the unsub shouldn't have been at the most recent crime scene. 'Crime scene' didn't quite carry the potency to describe the site of the murder of a mother and her son, the overkill and blood spatter stark and haunting. The profile had suggested that the unsub would visit the funerals of his victims, four families in all, but there had been nothing to suggest that he would revisit the scene of the murders. In the master bedroom of the house, where the bodies had been left where they'd fallen, the unsub had stood surrounding by dried blood and photographs of the once living and breathing family he'd annihilated.

The unsub had a gun, though he was clearly unfamiliar with it and unpracticed in firing at a moving target. His hand had shook as he aimed toward Hotch and his eyes had darted around the room searching for an escape route.

Hotch could have talked the unsub down, encouraged or confused him enough that he would lower his weapon and waited until the rest of the team had arrived. He could have even brought the unsub down himself, could have wrestled him to the floor and pressed his wrists into handcuffs. Hotch had already drawn his gun while he was in the hallway, sounds in a house that should have been vacant putting him on alert. His gun was already aimed at the unsub as he walked into the bedroom, his finger resting slightly to the edge of the trigger so he wouldn't fire on accident.

He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he couldn't hide behind the excuse that he'd reacted on instinct, without thinking. No one would find fault with shooting an unsub who was aiming to kill. But Hotch couldn't claim that he hadn't thought before he had pulled the trigger. The bodies of all the families the unsub had tortured and killed were fresh in Hotch's mind, the corpses of the mother and child sprawled in this very room with their outlines on the pale carpet beneath his feet were just as present as the image of Haley that he held in his mind closer than the picture that was still tucked into his wallet. Hotch thought, thought of the all the victims, and then he pulled the trigger.

When the team had arrived, there hadn't been any question as to what had happened. The unsub's gun was still resting on the carpet by his lifeless hand. It was against Hotch's training to let a weapon be out of his control even if he _knew_ the unsub was dead, but he'd left it where it was. No one on the team had commented on anything but the identity of the unsub and the profile allowing for him to revisit the scene of the murders. There had been no glances as they returned to Quantico. No one had came to his office to ask any awkward questions about the confrontation with the unsub. His team trusted him; they held the utmost faith in him.

Hotch thought that maybe he had earned that trust and faith that very night, even if no one on the team would understand or even realize it.


End file.
